  Produced by Al Haines. [image] Cover art [image] "Then he shot down, head foremost, and again found himself in the grass." (Page 'POSSUM BY MARY GRANT BRUCE Author of "Glen Eyre," "Mates at Billabong," WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED To CONTENTS I 'POSSUM CHAPTER I THE "HOUSE BEAUTIFUL" The trim suburban garden blazed with flowers. Over the porch at the gate mandevillea hung in a curtain of fragrant white, and an archway over the path that wound through the close-shaven lawn was a miracle of Fortune's yellow roses—gold and rose and copper blended gloriously. There were beds aflame with "bonfire" salvia, and others gay with many-hued annuals. Gaudy tulips reared splendid heads near a great clump of arum lilies that fringed a tiny pool where little Garth Macleod's solitary goldfish swam in lonely state. Everywhere there were roses; in standards in the smooth, well-kept beds, or trained along the wide verandas, forming a screen of exquisite blossom. Their sweetness lay like a charm over the garden. It was a hot spring afternoon. Tom Macleod, digging busily in a corner, pushed his Panama back from his flushed face, and stood erect for a moment to ease his aching back. As he did so a motor whirred to the gate, stopped, and a stout little man hurried up the path, waving a capable hand towards the shirt-sleeved worker across the lawn. "Hullo, Doctor!" Macleod called. "See you presently, Tom," was all the doctor vouchsafed him. He disappeared behind the roses on the veranda, and Macleod returned to his work with a furrow between his eyes that had not been there before. From time to time he cast half-impatient glances towards the house, whence no sound issued. Finally, with a hasty movement, he plunged his spade into the soil, and went with long strides across the grass—meeting, at the step, the doctor, who plunged out of the house like a plump Jack-in-the-box. "Oh!" said Macleod vaguely. "How's the kid?" "The kid? why, going on first-rate," said the doctor, laughing. "Can't a man stay five minutes talking to his patient's mother without your making up your mind that the kid must be dying?" Tom Macleod grinned a little shamefacedly. "The last three weeks have rather unsettled my nervous system, I believe," he said. "I didn't know I had one until Garth took to trying to die. You needn't be so superior, old man. I believe the little beggar shook up yours, too!" "Well—it hasn't been too jolly a time," admitted the doctor. "One doesn't like to see a nice kid suffering: and Garth and I are old chums. Anyhow, he's better. Come and sit down; it's an extraordinary thing, but I have time for a cigarette." He went with quick, short steps towards a bench under a drooping pepper tree, Macleod following with his long, easy stride. No two men could have been a greater contrast: the short, plump doctor, with his humorous, ugly face, which every child loved at the first glance, and the tall, lean Australian, clean-limbed and handsome—almost boyish, but for a certain worn expression, and for the lines of anxiety which his boy's illness had graven round his eyes and mouth. They lit their cigarettes and stared at each other. "On the rare occasions when you announce that you've time to smoke, I have noticed that you generally have something to communicate—probably unpleasant," said Macleod. "What is it, old man?" "I wish you weren't so observant," said the doctor; "it's disconcerting. Well, I have something. It isn't exactly new: I hinted at it to you six months ago. Now I've got to speak plainly." "You mean——?" "I mean that if I had a boy like Garth I wouldn't run the risk of trying to bring him up in a city," the doctor answered. "I haven't been satisfied with the little chap for a long time. His constitution's all right—there's nothing radically the matter. But he doesn't thrive. You've seen that for yourself, Tom." "Yes—I've seen it," said the father heavily. "Of course, we've kept hoping he would grow stronger. As you say, there seemed nothing really wrong, and he's pretty wiry——" "If he hadn't been wiry I could not have pulled him through the last three weeks," Dr. Metcalf said. "You may thank your stars he's wiry." "If he hadn't picked up this unlucky illness——" "Well—I don't know," said the doctor. "I'm inclined to think you may yet consider it a blessing in disguise. You might have gone on pouring tonics and patent messes into him, and hoping he'd improve. You can't do it now. It's up to you and Aileen to give him every chance, if you want a strong son instead of a weakling." "That's final?" Macleod asked. "That's my considered opinion. I know your difficulties, old man. But I know you don't value anything in the world beyond Garth. Take him to the country; let him live out of doors, and run as wild as a rabbit; give him unlimited fresh milk—not the stuff you buy out of a can—country food, and pure air: let him wear old clothes all the time and sleep out of doors—and in a year I'd stake my professional reputation you won't know him. Keep him in a Melbourne suburb, and I won't be answerable for the consequences." "That's pretty straight, anyhow," said Macleod. "I mean it to be straight. I haven't known you since you were at school to mince matters with you now. And I'm fond of the kid: I want to see him grow into a decent man, with all the best that is in him given a fair chance." "We've tried to do that," Macleod said. He looked round the glowing garden. "It's such a jolly home, and he does love it." "It's one of the jolliest little homes I've ever seen, and it's going to hurt both of you badly to leave it," the doctor rejoined. "The trouble is, it is too jolly. You have made yourself a little Paradise inside the tallest paling fence you could build, and you've shut out all that lies outside that fence—miles on miles of teeming streets, packed and jammed with people. You're in the midst of grass and roses and things, with a sprinkler going on your tulips, or whatever those rainbow affairs are—and you don't think about the street outside, dry and baking, with a hot wind swirling the germ-laden dust about—blowing it probably upon the meat and fruit and milk you'll buy to-morrow. The air comes to you over thousands of houses, clean and dirty, and thousands of people breathe it. You've got to get where there's no second-hand air." "Great Scott!" ejaculated Macleod. "Will you tell me how any children manage to live at all?" "It's a special dispensation of Providence that most youngsters don't die from germs," said the doctor, laughing. "I'm aware that the infantile population of Melbourne is pretty healthy, but it's always a mystery to me how children in any big city survive their surroundings. After all, Melbourne's cleaner than most places. However, there is only one among its hordes of kids that is interesting you and me at the moment, and that's Garth. You've got to get him out of it, Tom." "When?" "As soon as you can make your arrangements. I know you can't do that in a moment, but, of course, he could not be moved just yet. When he is strong enough Aileen could take him somewhere until you were ready. But get him to the country. His poor little head is full of stories and make-believes: let him forget what a book looks like, and introduce him to a pony. By the way, it's going to be enormously good for you and Aileen, too." "Is it?" Macleod asked, smiling grimly. "I'll worry along somehow, though I know mighty little of anything outside a city. But it's rough on her, poor girl. She just loathes the country—hasn't any use for scrub and bad roads, and discomfort generally. I'll never be able to get her a servant—there aren't any, I believe, once you get more than a mile from a picture theatre. And she has never had to work." "Don't you worry your head about Aileen," said the little doctor, rising. "She has her head screwed on the right way—and women have a way of doing what they've got to do. She can imagine herself her own grandmother, fresh out from England, and tackling the Bush as all our plucky little grandmothers did. Pity there are not more like them now: we live too softly nowadays, and our backbones don't stiffen. But you'll find Aileen will come out all right. In a year you'll all be blessing me. When you come to think of it, I'm the only one to be pitied. I'm going to miss you badly." There was a twisted smile on his lips as he wrung his friend's hand. "Good-bye: my patients will be calling down maledictions on my head if I don't hurry." Macleod saw him into his dusty motor and watched it glide down the hot street. Then he turned and went back through the scent of the garden, instinctively making his footsteps noiseless as he crossed the veranda and entered the house. It was a trim house of one story, with a square hall where tall palms gave an effect of green coolness. An embroidered curtain screened a turn into a passage where, through an open door, could be heard the sound of a low voice reading. A childish call cut across the soft tones. "Is that you, Daddy?" "That's me," said Macleod cheerfully, if ungrammatically. "Are you sure you ought not to be asleep?" He entered the room and smiled down at his little son. "A fellow can't sleep all day," Garth said. "'Sides, I needn't sleep so much now. Doctor says I'm nearly well, Daddy." "That's good news," said his father heartily. "We'll have you out in the garden soon, and getting fat. The tulips are blossoming, Garth, and your poor old goldfish is awfully lonesome. He says even Bran doesn't go near him now." "Bran is too busy nursing his master," said Garth's mother, looking at the rough head of the Irish terrier curled up on a chair beside the boy's bed. "We'll all get out together in a few days, and find out all the beautiful things that have happened in the garden since we were there. Won't it be lovely, Tom?" She leaned back until her head touched her husband—a tall, pale girl, with lovely features and a mass of fair hair that glinted like Garth's when the sunlight fell on it, and eyes as blue as violets. Her long hands, blue-veined and delicate, lay idly in her lap, one finger keeping open the book from which she had been reading. She was like an exquisite piece of china—fragile, to all outward appearance, and dainty; graceful in every line. Tom Macleod looking down at her, felt as he had felt ten year' ago, before they married, that he must let no wind blow upon her roughly. Now he had to tell her that they must go away, away from the ordered comfort of city life, which was all that she had ever known, to whatever the country had in store for them. Even for himself, always a townsman, the prospect carried something of dread, as do all unfamiliar prospects. But he knew that, whatever hardships the Bush holds for a man, it is hardest on a woman. Garth was chattering away, oblivious of his father's grave face. "Doctor says I can talk as much as I like," he proclaimed happily. "And he says I'll be perflickly well in a little bit, and then Mother can take me down to the sea. And she says she will, didn't you, Mother? And then you can come down for week-ends, Daddy. Or do you think the Office would give you a holiday, like it did the time we went to Black Rock?" "It might," said his father. "Do make it," Garth begged. "It would be so lovely, Daddy—and you could teach me to swim." His little thin face, for which the brown eyes were so much too large, was alight with eagerness. "Bran'll come too—he loves going away, doesn't he? D'you know, Daddy, I think Bran was just cut out for a country dog! He's so awful interested when he gets away from the streets." "I'm not sure that that's not very good taste on Bran's part," said Macleod: and at something in his tone his wife looked up sharply. "What do you think about it yourself, Garth?" "Oh, I just love the country," Garth answered. "You get so tired with streets—they all look alike, nothing but motors and dust. The Gardens are jolly, of course, and so's Fawkner Park; but they're not the same as the real country. D'you remember the time we went to Gippsland for the holidays? Wasn't it lovely? I always felt when we went out walking that we might meet anything whatever—fairies, or Bunyips, or—or all sorts of things!" "But you never did, I suppose?" "N-no," Garth admitted. "But I used to pretend I did, and that was fun. And I truly did see some rabbits and a wallaby, only the people at the farm weren't a bit pleased when I told them about the rabbits. Mr. Brown said he'd rather see a gorilla on any of his land. Isn't it a pity rabbits are such damageous things, Daddy? Anyhow, I used to pretend that all the really bad fairies had got locked up inside rabbits, to do as much mischief as ever they could, until they got good again. But Mr. Brown said that if ever he heard of a rabbit getting good he'd eat his hat." "Seeing that Brown told me he'd just spent two hundred pounds netting his land against rabbits, you couldn't expect him to love them," Macleod said. "Two hundred pounds is an awful lot of money, isn't it?" Garth asked innocently. "But you've got heaps more than that, haven't you, Daddy?" "Not as big a heap as I would like," his father answered. He walked across the room and stood looking out of the window, his eye wandering over the well-kept garden. A lucky legacy had enabled him to buy his home just before his marriage: now he wished with all his heart that he had not spent so much, in the years that followed, in making it nearer and nearer to their hearts' desire. They had built a room here, a veranda there: had installed electric light and cooking power, electric fans and electric irons—had filled the house with every modern device for ease and comfort. His salary was good: there was no need for economy. He had lavished it on the garden they loved, until its high walls enclosed, in truth, a little paradise. Their personal tastes had been expensive: stalls at the theatres, little dinners at the Savoy, races, dances, bridge parties, had all been commonplaces in their happy, careless life. Best of all had he loved to dress Aileen beautifully. "When a fellow has the loveliest wife in Australia, it's up to him to see that she's decently rigged out," he would say, bringing home a fur coat, a costly sunshade, a piece of exquisite lace. He hardly knew how much his own clothes, quietly good, had cost him: Garth had been the best turned out boy in the neighbourhood. Their servants, well-paid and lightly-worked, had kept the household machinery moving silently on oiled wheels. There had seemed not one crumpled petal in the rose-leaves that strewed their path. The trained nurse entered softly, bearing on a little brass tray Garth's tea-service—dainty china, painted with queer, long-necked cats. "This is the first day I've felt really int'rested in tea," Garth proclaimed cheerfully, wriggling up on his pillows. His mother moved quickly to help him, slipping a wrap round the thin little shoulders. Then a gong chimed softly from the hall, and she turned to her husband. Her fingers lay on his shoulder for a moment. "Tea, Tom." "Oh, all right," he said, and turned from the window. "So long, old son—eat a big tea." "I'll eat a 'normous one, if Nurse will only give it to me," Garth said, eyeing his tray hungrily. "Mind you do, too, Daddy. And come back soon." "I will," Macleod said. He smiled at the eager face as he followed his wife from the room. CHAPTER II BREAKING BAD NEWS It was one of Aileen Macleod's whims that she liked to brew her own tea. A copper kettle bubbled busily over a spirit lamp on the tray as they entered the drawing-room, and her husband flung himself into an arm-chair and watched the slim, beautiful hands busy with the silver tea-caddy and the quaint, squat teapot. Neither spoke until she came to his side with his cup. "I beg your pardon, dear," he said, trying to rise. She kept him back, a hand on his shoulder. "You've been working: why shouldn't I bring you your tea?" she said, smiling at him. "Because I ought to be looking after you," he rejoined. He was on his feet with a quick movement, took her by the shoulders laughingly, and put her into a big chair, bringing tea and hot cakes to a tiny table beside her. "There!" he said. "No: you want another cushion. Now lie back, sweetheart, and rest; you're ever so much more tired than you'll admit, even to yourself." "Being tired doesn't matter, now," she said. "Nothing matters, now that Garth is safe. But it's nice to be bullied." She smiled at him, with a little restful movement, then took up her cup. Over it she looked at him questioningly. "Dr. Metcalfe is quite satisfied, Tom? What were you and he talking about for so long?" "Oh, he's quite satisfied with the boy's progress," Macleod answered. "He says you and he can go away quite soon. We—we were just yarning." Something tied his tongue; she looked so tired, and yet so peaceful. He would not tell her just yet. Aileen opened her lips to speak and then closed them again. They talked idly of the garden, the tulips that were just blossoming, and the new roses, until tea was over and a silent-footed maid had removed the tray. Macleod lit a cigarette, and lay back in his chair. "Tell me, Tom," she said quietly. "I know there is something more." He was silent for a moment, looking at her. She was very pale, her breath coming quickly. "Don't bother about anything now," he said. "We've got the little chap back; and you're dog-tired. You mustn't worry about anything." "Don't you see—when I don't know, I think it's Garth!" Her voice broke, almost in a cry. "Tell me—quick!" He was on his knees beside her in a flash. "What a fool I am!—it's all right, my girl. Garth's quite safe. Only we've got to go away—to leave all this and take him to the Bush. He'll grow strong if we do. But I didn't know how to tell you." His wife gave a long sigh, and put her face down on his shoulder. "Oh-h!" she said. "I thought it was something that really mattered!" "My girl!" said Macleod huskily. For a while they did not move. Then she put him away from her gently, and looked at him with steady eyes. "I suppose I shall wake up some morning—perhaps to-morrow morning—to realize that it's quite large and important," she said. "But at present it seems the smallest thing, because all that really counts is that Garth is safe. Tell me all about it, Tom." "Metcalfe won't answer for him if we keep him in town," he said. "If we take him right into the country for a few years he will grow into a strong boy. Therefore, as the Americans say, it's country for ours." "Of course. What will happen?" "We'll sell or let this place," he said, watching her face keenly for some sign that the blow was telling. But there was no change in its eager interest, and he went on. "I must send in my resignation at the office. They'll be nice about it, of course: probably they'd always try to find a berth for me, though it would not be as good as this one. That will leave us with the little bit of private income we have and whatever we get out of the house. We might live on that, after a fashion. But if we've got to go into the country, I'd rather see if we can't make something out of the land." "But we don't know anything about it." "Not a thing," Macleod agreed. "But I don't believe it's so awfully complicated: surely a man of reasonable common sense can learn. And look at the alternative—living in some beastly cottage in a township, with not a thing to do. I don't think I could stand it." "I'm sure I couldn't," said his wife. "Of course you'll learn—look at all the stupid people who do well out of land. Quite stupid people: and your worst enemy can't say you haven't got brains, Tom!" "I make you my best bow," said her husband solemnly. "You're very encouraging, ma'am! I'll try to live up to your high estimate of me. But what seems to matter more is that I think I've got enough muscle." For the first time a shadow of doubt came into her eyes. "I don't want you to be worked to death," she said. "Will it be very hard for you, Tom?" He broke into a short laugh. "Hard for me! Do you think it matters the least little bit about me? But it maddens me to think what it's going to mean for you. Do you realize that it means no more fun, as we've always counted fun? no more outings or gaiety, no pretty clothes? any sort of a home, and mighty little comfort? We—we won't have much money, Aileen." "We'll have enough to—to live, won't we?" she asked. "To buy food, I mean?" "Oh, there'll be enough for that. But we'll have to scrimp in a hundred ways. I don't know that we can even keep a servant for you, though I don't suppose, for that matter, that there are any to be had in the Bush. I wouldn't mind that so much if I could help you: but I'll have my own work outside, and it will keep me going. I've never let you work, Aileen," he ended wistfully. "No, you haven't," she said; looking at him gently. "If ever a woman was thoroughly spoilt it's your wife!" "I couldn't have had the face to marry you, if it had meant that you would have to work," he answered. "How could I, when you'd never done any work in your life?" "I don't know that that is a very creditable record for a woman," she said reflectively. "I've often thought my life was too soft a one; only you have made it so easy to be lazy, Tom." "You're not lazy," he defended her hotly. "Look at all you have on hand—your music, the garden, the home—do you think it's only servants that have made us our 'House Beautiful?' You've charities, and Women's Leagues—and Garth. It seems to me you're always busy." "They're all very pretty things to play at," she said, laughing. "All except Garth: he is a solid reality. Now I'm going to discover ever so many other realities. Don't worry about me, Tom, dear. It's going to be an Awfully Big Adventure, but we'll get through somehow." She smiled up at him. Something like a great weight lifted from Macleod's heart. "You aren't afraid?" he asked. Her face grew grave, and for a moment she did not answer. "I never knew what fear really meant until Garth was ill," she said, at length. "One says one is afraid of lots of things; but you get right to the terrible depths of fear when you think your child is dying. And it teaches you that nothing else matters. Now that Garth has come back, and I can hold him again, nothing else even seems serious. I suppose a month ago I might have felt scared at the idea of cooking and scrubbing, but now I feel as if I could do it, and sing. You understand, don't you?" "Yes, I understand," he answered. "It's hard to imagine anything else troubling us, if the kid's safe. But will we feel like that in a year's time? in six months? The sharp edge of thankfulness will have worn off then, but the cooking and scrubbing will remain." She nodded. "It isn't easy to say. I suppose I shouldn't make any predictions, since I don't in the least understand all I'll have to tackle. But plenty of other women have done it, and much more—women with half a dozen little children. I'm not going to be afraid." She lifted her chin with a defiant little toss. "I suppose it will be hard, and I'll make ever so many mistakes—so will you, and we'll laugh at each other! Oh, Tom, nothing can be very bad if we keep laughing, and we have Garth!" "You dear!" he said. "I might have known you'd take it that way. Of course"—he hesitated—"there are other alternatives. You wouldn't care to send Garth to live on a farm for a few years, if we could get hold of the right people? Like the Agnews did with that delicate boy of theirs, you know?" "The Agnews couldn't help themselves," said Aileen. "There's a woman to be pitied, if you like. Mrs. Agnew aged ten years in the first year after she had to part with Harry. We don't do that sort of thing in this family. Next?" He laughed. "With my first suggestion badly squashed——" "You would have squashed it yourself if I hadn't, Tom!" "Yes, but I knew you would," he said comfortably. "Well, the next is really more feasible." He watched her narrowly. "Suppose I stayed on at the office, and we let this house, and I lived in rooms; there would be money enough to establish you and Garth in some little country place where you wouldn't have to work, and it would be all right for the boy. It would mean separation, of course, but I might be able to run down to see you every few months. It would be far easier for you, dear." "And for you?" "Whatever is best for you will be best for me," he said. "You know that, Aileen, don't you? I will be quite satisfied with your choice." "I wish I knew what you want," she said, watching his face. "And I won't tell you." He laughed at her. "Very well," she said, "then I will choose, and it's your own fault if you don't like it. I think that as a planner you begin well, and then slump dreadfully—at any rate, your last two efforts are simply horrid. Do you think I can take the responsibility of bringing up Garth alone, just when he needs a man's hand? He'd break his heart. I wouldn't dare to tell him we meant to leave you. And if you imagine that a little freedom from work would make up to me for being without you—— Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Tom Macleod?" He sat down on the arm of her chair and lifted her hand against his face. "I had to give you your choice," he said. "But you don't know what a blue funk I was in!" "Then you ought to be more ashamed of yourself than ever!" she retorted. "We're mates, you and Garth and I: nothing matters, so long as we are together." "Not even scrubbing?" "No," she said. "Nor ploughing, Tom?" "Certainly not. Nor cooking?" "Cooking might be fun. What about milking?" "I learned to milk in my extreme youth," said he proudly. "That's a detail. But—washing?" "It's done in the best families," she said. "Counted out. How about clearing land?" "I will do it with my little hatchet," said her husband. "Washing-up, Aileen?" "Ugh!" she said. "Even in this uplifted moment I can't pretend I'm going to enjoy greasy dishes. Never mind—they'll get done. We won't think about them. Anything else?" "Lots, I'm certain. What if the sheep get foot-rot, and the hens develop pip? Or is it the other way round? Could you manage a hen with foot-rot?" "Just as well as you would handle a sheep with pip. What are they, anyhow?" "Diseases which have always been happily obscure to me," he said, "Now we'll have to study them." "We'll study them together, then," said his wife; "then, if they appear we can turn on them our united batteries of knowledge. There must be lots of other diseases, Tom. Is it hens that get glanders?" "Very probably: it always seemed to me that hens have nasty habits," said he. "Of course, I've only looked at them with a kind of semi-detached eye, but then, I never felt any inclination for close acquaintance with a live fowl. My soul was as a star, and dwelt apart!" "I think one of the first things you had better do would be to uproot any graceful notions about your soul," said his wife. "We shan't need encumbrances like that for some time. Stout bodies and strong muscles are likely to be more in our line; don't be surprised or shocked if you find me writhing in odd corners, because it will be only Swedish drill, to develop me—also in odd corners!" "It will be awfully interesting," he said, laughing. "Couldn't you start it now? I believe there's one lovely exercise that you do at meal-times. Strangers are apt to run to your assistance, thinking you're strangling, but it's only neck-drill, to give you a long, slender throat!" "I've always faintly hoped mine pleased you," rejoined his wife. "However, it's too late now—it won't matter in the Bush if one has a throat or not. My energies are going to enable me to develop strength enough to throw a bag of wheat over my shoulder, and go whistling down the lea!" "Why not bring it home? I don't see why you want to throw good wheat about, after I shall probably have had grave trouble in growing it. And what is a lea, anyhow?" "It's something the lowing herd winds slowly o'er," she said. "You ought to know that." "I did, but I don't know what it looks like. And I suppose I'll have to know." The laughter died out of his eyes, and he looked at her in silence for a moment. "Aileen—it's all very well to play the fool, but we're two horribly ignorant people. I wonder if we'll do any good at all?" "Yes—we will," she said stubbornly. "And I don't mean to stop playing the fool: at least I hope I won't have to. Think of poor old Garth, if we grew old and solemn! We'll just back each other up and worry through. We're in a pretty tight place, but we're not going to pull long faces over it. I suppose sometimes things will get bothersome, and we'll be tired, and possibly our tempers may become a bit ragged at the edges. But we'll understand, and not remember it against each other next day." "Nor next minute, I hope," he said. "Well, a man would be a cur if he were afraid to face things with any one like you." "Don't you expect too much of me," said his wife. "I'm an ignorant old thing, as you've justly pointed out, and when you have indigestion through my bad cooking you'll dislike me extremely. But I'll improve. Now come and we'll tell Garth all about it." CHAPTER III GORDON'S FARM It was Dr. Metcalfe who found the new home for them. He came in on Garth's first afternoon in the garden. They were gathered under the pepper tree, and Garth gave a glad little shout at sight of him. "Oh, there's my doctor! Come along, Doctor, and have tea!" "This seems a party," said the new-comer, regarding the table beside the boy's couch. "Cakes, as I live! and with pink and white icing! Who said you could have exciting things like that, young man?" "Mother did—and I b'lieve you told her," said Garth cheerfully. "I'm ever so nearly well. You know you don't have to come and stick that old fernometer in my mouth any more." "It's evident that it will be needed again to-morrow," said the doctor, regarding the cakes with a lowering brow. "Never mind—it'll be worth it," Garth rejoined. "Anyhow, I know you're only pulling my leg!" "The attitude of disrespect shown by one's patients is very distressing," said the doctor, subsiding into a low chair and accepting tea. "Go on, young man: don't blame me when you find the castor-oil bottle looming by your bed of pain! Then you'll wish that you had stuck to good old bread-and-butter, and you'll send for me." "Well, you'd come," said Garth comfortably. "I would not. I would send back a stern message—'Double dose of oil.'" "Then I'd better have a double go of cake," said Garth. "Bettern't I, Dad?" "Most certainly, I should say," his father answered. "It's a sound rule not to mind paying for your fun." He held the plate for Garth's inspection. "There's one in the corner, with an enormous blob of icing: it looks pretty good." "It is," said Garth, digging his sharp little teeth into it, with a rapt expression. "A nice pair, you are!" quoth the doctor, regarding them with a twinkle in his eye. "Not that I can blame the son, seeing what his father is. I pity you, Aileen: you'll have a hard time with them when you get to the Back of Beyond." "Oh, did you know we were going there?" Garth queried eagerly. "Isn't it lovely, Doctor! I'm going to have a pony, Dad b'lieves. Will you come and see it?" "It will be my one ambition," the doctor told him gravely. "Have you made any arrangements yet, Tom?" "I'm trying to find a place," Macleod answered. "The office has been awfully decent: they say I'm to come to them if ever we return to Melbourne, and they'll do their best to take me back. Likewise, they've given me a bonus, which is handy." "And said the nicest things about him," interpolated his wife. "He won't tell you that, so I must—you can blush unseen, Tom. And the staff, to his great horror, mean to give him a silver salver." "Very handy in the Bush, I'm sure," said the doctor. "It's jolly good of them," Tom said; "but I wish they wouldn't. Poor beggars, they have enough to do with their money. The awful part is that I believe they're going to make speeches!" "And you'll have to make one," said Aileen. "Do you think they would let us come and hear?" "Heaven forbid!" ejaculated her husband. "I haven't made a speech since the burst of eloquence I uttered, at our wedding breakfast." "I remember well," said the doctor. "It lasted fully ten seconds, and then you collapsed. We all blushed for you. I think I'd like to hear you make another." "Well, you won't,'" said the victim, with finality. "I wish you'd change the subject: it hurts." "Certainly," said the doctor. "I've found you a farm." "You have! Where?" "Down in the Gippsland Lakes country," said his friend. "Is it any good?" "I wouldn't have found it if it were not," said the doctor severely. "As a matter of fact, I believe it is rather a lucky find. It belongs to Jim Gordon, an Englishman who has been out there about fifteen years. He knocked about all over the country for a good while, and then bought this place. Now he has had money left to him, and he's going back to England. But he likes Australia, and he does not mean to stay away for ever, so he won't sell: he's fond of this little place, and he'll take a low rent if he can get a tenant who will look after it. He showed it to one man, who looked at his plunge-bath and remarked, that it would be a good thing to set tomato plants in! It seems to have given Gordon rather a shock." "It would," said Aileen feelingly. "Did you tell him we were nice people, Doctor?" "I went as far as I could," said the doctor guardedly. "I wonder he hasn't already come to call, in that case," said she, laughing. "Apart from your quite unjustifiable reasoning, he isn't exactly a calling man," the doctor remarked. "I gather that he has lived very much to himself on this place, doing most of his own work, and that he is not at all popular among the settlers near, who, probably regard him as full of unpleasant English pride—which he is. He's one of those stiff-necked people who think their own ways are always best, and so will never learn any new ones. Therefore, he has never made much money. From what he says, there is plenty of work to be done on this place. It's about the acreage you want, and there's a decent little house on it; and he does seem to have taken some pains with his orchard and garden. But for the most part he appears to have gone fishing, and let the place take care of itself." "Would there be room on it for a pony?" Garth asked wistfully. "Yes—and what's more, there's a pony there already!" "Glory!" said Garth faintly. "Have we got to take his live stock, too?" asked Macleod. "It isn't necessary, but I should think it would suit you. There is not much—a pony or two, and a few cows and sheep. You will need all he has had, and, I should think, more: and he'll sell them at a fair valuation. He has two boats, which are let with the house, if the tenant undertakes to keep them in order—he really seems keener about the boats than about anything else. He has a horror of agents and lawyers, and wants to arrange the whole thing privately. If you will consider the place he would like you to go down with him to see it." "I suppose he would not object to my taking a man down with me? Dawson, who values for our office, knows all about these things: and you know how much I do. The office has offered to lend me Dawson to look at any place." "Oh, Gordon won't mind—he's really a very fair-minded old chap, and you won't find him hard to deal with. He's not the sort of person to take advantage of the young and innocent: in fact, he'll probably respect you more for taking a tame expert with you." "It's a long way from town," Macleod said, regarding Aileen with troubled eyes. "What of that? It's glorious country, and the very place for a small boy," said the doctor, smiling at Garth, who had forgotten cake, and was listening, his eyes shining. "You don't want to be running to town always—that's expensive and unsettling. Cuninghame is quite close, where you can get all your stores: and if you want a bigger town, Sale and Bairnsdale are within easy reach. I've never found out which of them is the capital of Gippsland, but perhaps you'll make the discovery. Did I mention that one of the boats is a motor-launch. You lucky people will be able to explore all the corners of the lakes that mere tourists never see." "Dad!" came from Garth, in a burst of ecstasy—which somehow checked his father in a remark that busy farmers would not have much time to play about on the lakes. Looking at the delighted face, with the unnaturally large eyes, it seemed better to put that remark away among unborn speeches. He said instead— "It sounds very jolly. I'll have to teach you to run the motor, old son. By the way, Metcalfe, do you happen to have gathered whether we are likely to make a living out of this highly desirable place?" "Why, yes, I think you are," the doctor answered. "Gordon has not done so badly, and he's not a hard worker. Given decent seasons and fair luck you ought to get on, though it's not a place to make any fortunes out of. But go down and look at it for yourself." Which Macleod did, returning a few days later with a cheered expression. "It's not so bad, Dawson says," he told Aileen, gratefully sipping a cup of coffee, after his long journey. "No fortune in it, as Metcalfe said; but a living, unless we have bad luck. And it's certainly cheap. The house might be much worse—though I'm afraid you will find it bad enough, after this one, my girl." "Bless you, I'm not expecting a palace," said Aileen cheerily. "I hope it's small: a palace would be somewhat burdensome when one came to scrub it." "Oh, it's small enough," he said. "We'll fit in, with an extra room or two. There are some things that you don't rind in many bush homes, Dawson says—a decent bathroom, wire window-screens and doors, and a thoroughly good water-supply. They seem awfully ordinary, but I can assure you they're not! And the country is lovely: the view from the front windows will make you forget your old scrubbing-brush!" "It will be a bad look-out for you if I do!" murmured his wife. "That's beneath you," he said, laughing. "I don't think a respectable farmeress ought to make bad jokes. There's a good garden, and a fair orchard, and Garth will fall in love with the pony." "Is the pony safe?" she asked. "Very unsafe, I think—it's always in danger of going to sleep. I wouldn't like to say how old it is, and I'd hate to ride five miles on it. But Garth will think it a lovely steed. It may make you realize how much past its prime it is when I tell you Gordon wouldn't sell it. He hadn't the face to put a price on it—threw it in with the farm, on condition that it was treated kindly. Well, you couldn't treat anything like that unkindly—not if you had been brought up to reverence age!" "It sounds a soothing beast," said Aileen—"not likely to harrow my mind by bucking Garth off." "I'll guarantee it won't. There's another pony, too. I've bought that. Also three cows, twenty-four sheep, some assorted calves, and a lot of fowls. Dawson says they're cheap: I don't know. And I've inherited an orphan boy!" "Tom! What do you mean?" "Just what I say. Gordon has a boy on a three-years' lease from an orphanage in Melbourne, and only six months of it have run, so I've taken him over. He's about fourteen, and quite full of wickedness. But one may train him into something." "Did he—did he look at all clean?" "He did not. I rather think the training will begin with soap; and it will be a terrible shock to him, because you'd say from his appearance that he'd never met it. His name is Horace, I suppose, but old Gordon always called him Horrors, and I think we'll stick to it; it's extraordinarily suitable." "I don't think he sounds nice," said Aileen, wrinkling her pretty nose. "To tell you the truth," said her husband confidentially, "he isn't. But he'll do a lot of odd jobs. I made inquiries about a servant, but it's as we thought—not a soul to be had. Did you sound Julia about coming?" "I did," said Aileen. "'Is it me?' said Julia, 'that 'ud be leavin' Melbourne to go to wan of them places I've heard tell of—nowhere to go on your night out, and never a man to see, not if it was even a butcher-boy! I lived in a bog in Ireland all me days till I come to Australia; and 'tis no longer the counthry that I'd work in, but a good town with moving pictures and the grocer callin' every day for orders!' Then she wept at leaving me, and said she loved me as if I was her mother. Annie weeps too, at intervals, but of course she won't leave the young man in the baker's shop. But we couldn't afford them, anyway, Tom, so what's the good of worrying? Stop worrying at once, and tell me more about the farm." "There's a gorgeous cloth-of-gold rose tumbling all over the veranda," he said obediently, "and lots of nice common flowers in the garden—stocks, and wallflowers, and snapdragons, and honesty, and pinks, and things like that. It's very untidy, but quite pretty. The house is in a sheltered place where anything will grow: he has orange and lemon trees, covered with fruit, and he says the lemons bear all the year round. There are guavas, too: I didn't know they grew in Victoria." "Glory!" said Aileen, quoting her son. "I'll make guava jelly!" "Do you know how?" "No, but I'll learn. What else?" "Oh—apricots, and peaches, and cherries, and apples, and pears, to say nothing of gooseberries and currants. There's a good strawberry bed, too." "It sounds lovely," said Aileen. "Think of pies! I've been learning to make pastry, Tom, and Julia says I have a lovely hand for it. She's going to teach me all sorts of things. Do you think we can afford to buy one of those nice American oil-stoves? The ovens have glass doors, and you sit in front in ecstasy, and watch your cakes rise." "What if they don't rise?" "Then you go and do something else, and hope for the best. Don't depress me, Tom. They truly are lovely stoves, and you and Horrors wouldn't have nearly as much wood to cut. And they're nice and cool to work at." "Well, that's quite enough reason," Macleod said. "If any dodge is going to make work easier for you, we'll get it, if I have to pawn my watch. Let's go and buy these fascinating things to-morrow. I've got a list of everything in the house, and you'll have to go over it, and see what else you'll need." He rose and stretched himself with a great yawn. "Eh, but I'm sleepy! The boy is asleep, I suppose?" "Oh, yes, poor man: he tried to stay awake for you, but I told him you would be too tired to talk. He's desperately anxious to hear about the pony—you must go in to see him as soon as you get up, and tell him about it. He is so happy to be going to the country. It's going to be awfully worth while, Tom." "Is it?" Then the doubt in his eyes died at the sight of her face. "Yes, I believe it is," he said. "But then you'd make anything worth while!" |
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